


bombshell blond

by blue_roses



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Romance, i saw art for this and was like yup imma fic that so fast, is roadhog a vegetarian or vegan i sure dont know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_roses/pseuds/blue_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>emphasis on the bomb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bombshell blond

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this entire thing for the title?

It starts, like many good stories do, with Hana Song, fireworks, and an aggressively tall man telling you _ Cheers mate! The engines are revved!  _ In what you’d consider a stereotypical Australian accent. He’s carefree seeming enough that his words can be just about anything, but you know better. You thank him, and you grin because you of a few weeks ago wouldn't the man you’d mistaken for twelve burrowing raccoons near your apartment complex managed to save your show. Hana yells a not so subtle,  _ couldn’t have done it without me!  _ Then grins and gives an even less subtle wink before pointing at  _ him _ . He’s still looking at you, eyes wide, he probably just forgot what he was going to say. You chuckle, how typical of him. He asks a  _ what is it mate?  _ So naturally, you pull him down towards you. He jokes about you telling him a secret, and you say the subsequent kiss is a thank you. He doesn’t object.

   For any of this to make sense, you realize you have to go to the actual beginning, which is roughly three weeks ago. Your best friend, the bunny to your frog, the strawberry to your mint chip, and the most badass person you know, Hana Song, suggests you use  _ explosions  _ for a concert during one of your skype calls.

   “Are you serious? If the fact I’m banned from any light related tech ain’t enough, it’s gonna be near impossible for me to get explosives for an outdoor underground concert.” You take a sip out of your coca cola, and she mirrors you sipping her mountain dew. You’re coordinated like that.

   She shrugs, “I know people.” You wait for the explanation. There is none.

   “...this concert is in 26 days. Twenty. Six. Hana, I love you, you are the baddest person I know, but you also live in South Korea.” She just smiles, and it’s not the cutesy smile you see in her streams or interviews, she is a woman with a plan and you have both faith in her and fear of her. She downs her can of soda and clanks it loudly for emphasis.

   “Lúcio:, you’re gonna have a global audience and some global last minute assistance! Heard about these guys from Australia that are in your area, and I already set up an appointment for, um, two days from now! Have fun, and don’t get owned! I’ve heard they’re a bit intimidating up close…” A rustling, like digging through garbage, no, that  _ is  _ digging through garbage, becomes loud enough for you to notice through your headphones. Not  _ again.  _

  Hana can clearly hear it too, as she looks and says, “Raccoons again?”

  You sigh, “Yup, and it’s almost time for your stream too. You need to make sure you don’t have cheetos in your mouth.” 

   You know by now that the mumbling under her breath is definitely a string of Korean cussing, “Ugh why are you always  _ right?  _ But then, I am too. No  wonder we’re peas in a pod. But I guess this is bye for both of us, I’ll be calling after the meeting I have the time memorized!”

   “See ya Hana,” and you both pause to see who will end the call first. When you hear another rustle, you decide to initiate, closing your laptop and rushing to see if you’ll finally catch those raccoons that for some reason  _ love  _ your garbage cans. Once again, you can’t find the source of your irritation for the past four days, and settle for cleaning up your trash and getting back to working on your set. You can never be too over prepared. The last thought on your mind is that you hoped whoever the hell Hana sent wouldn’t be  _ I can kick the shit out of you in an alleyway and no one can stop me  _ kind of intimidating. You don’t consider yourself a judgmental person, as long as someone’s not suppressing freedom to live, it’s not your business. But you do consider yourself a bit wary, considering you’ve had to take such an option in the first place.

  If you could send the you of two days ago one message, it would be that no, these people arent’  _ I can kick the shit out of you in an alleyway and no one can stop me  _ kind of intimidating. No, these guys are more,  _ I’d stab you eight times in broad daylight and blow up the cute cafe we’re in just for shits and giggles.  _ They also happen to be really, really huge. Like, giants. You wish Hana were here, with her you’d have shortness solidarity.

  “Hello, hello.” you say, waving at the two men before sipping tea out of your miniature teacup. The two men are sitting across from you, and the one on the left lifts his black.. _ gas mask?  _ To follow suit. He makes a noise that you assume is a snort of approval, and you’re glad your idea of getting him black tea was on point. The man to the right just looked at you both with different but equal amounts of confusion. Then he clears his throat, and attempts to put his hands on the table to shake things up. The other man stops him, roughly by pushing him back into his chair.

   “...shut up.” the right man says, he removes one hand to take a ginger sip of black tea. You didn’t even notice he put some milk in before he put his cup down. You don’t know why you’re focusing on this.

   “I haven’t  _ said  _ anything!” the other man shouts, and he doesn’t seem to care that he’s offending the people around him. Which sort of makes sense considering he probably specializes in making scenes without worrying or caring about the consequences. He sits down, and seems unaffected after the outburst, because he goes right onto introducing himself.

   “G’day cobber, the name’s Junkrat,” he points to the other man, “and this big lug is Roadhog. Heard ya needed some mayhem, and we’re gonna bring it to ya.”

   “Man, I don’t think mayhem is exactly what I--”

   “No offense mate, but we know who called for us. Uh, what was her name again.”

   “Hana,” you and Roadhog say at the same time. Junkrat perks up and waves a thumbs up in both your faces before acting like he never forgot in the first place.

   “The  _ point  _ is, she talked about suits getting in the way of a damn good show, so Hog and me are gonna give ya the organized chaos you need. Now, I’d hold a gun to ya till ya paid up, but your friend paid in advance. A keeper, if I do say so myself.” You laugh, because no matter how weirdly comical these two are, you know they would actually hold a gun to your head.  Multiple guns. And a mine probably. 

    “I understand,” you say. You’re going to have a long talk with Hana and hopefully fork up the cash to pay her back. You still can’t believe two huge, violent, white dudes are the solution to being blacklisted, but you also know you have to make it work. Somehow. Junkrat cocks his head to the side, almost like a confused child, and Roadhog takes another sip of tea. 

    “So,” you say, “let’s up the tempo and get to work.”

  What you learn over the two and a half hours you stay at the cafe: Roadhog marks all the important points with adorable pig stickers, Junkrat has an endless amount of ways to describe an explosion, and apparently really likes your message. And knows more about sound equipment than you expected, though you’re more modern and he’s a vintage kind of guy. When Junkrat gets too rowdy, Roadhog manages to shut him down in a moment. Junkrat is not able to do the same for the other man.

   You leave, less wary, listening to an EP in progress. Ideas are brimming through your mind, you realize, out of all the sounds you discovered today, you found one that could make a beat go  _ wild.  _ That train of thought is interrupted mid composition when you hear the rustling of raccoons  _ again _ . You’d bought a large net a few days before, and you were always good at running. You’re ready, you say as you approach your garbage cans.  _ Come on over,  _ you think,  _ I’m gonna catch you… _

  You fling the net over in a swift motion hear a squeak, a lot of squirming. You think it’s twelve raccoons under your net. It’s a person. A familiar person. It’s  _ Junkrat,  _ taking your trash. You wonder if this entire day is some sort of fever dream.

   “Cheers mate?” Junkrat says, his eyes wide with confusion. Nice to know he wasn’t aware of the fact you were the one whose trash he dug through on a daily basis. You don’t know if he’ll try something, but you know you’re not gonna keep him in a net like some animal. 

   “Alright man,” you take the net off him, “do you want like, a snack or something? Because really now that we know each other, it’s fine if you just ask.”

   “Uh, sure.” He gets up, taking an armful of your trash and putting it in a large garbage bag. He puts it down, and then stares at you.

    “Give me a sec, I don’t have much, but everyone deserves food. You can sit outside, have a feeling I won’t be forcing you to take a bath.”

    “Over my dead body.”

    You can’t help but chuckle, “See? I’m not a forceful kinda guy. Now, sit on down. It’s about 5, so I guess I can have an early dinner with the guy who stole my trash.”

   Ten minutes later, you and Junkrat, whose real name you learn is Jamison Fawkes, are sitting near your outdoor garbage bins eating rice with beans and leftover pork. He tells you his chaotic pyro plans, and you find yourself agreeing more than you expect. In a weird way, Jamison is kind of a cool guy. One that really likes the Joker and who could probably burn down everything you’ve ever loved, but still, a cool guy. Something about his off kilter, genuine excitement rolls with you, and you don’t try and fight it.

   When you tell Hana what happened, she almost spits her drink from laughter. You only protest for show, because you know she’s been holding that back for who knows how long. Your objections are completely genuine when she says you’re catching feelings for a white boy.

  “Well,” she says, “he’s pretty tall, right? I’m wondering what else is--”

   “I love you but if you say another word I’m blocking you and telling the world you have a muscle bunny as a fursona.”  _ And which athlete inspired your new type _ goes unsaid.

    “You  _ wouldn’t. _ ” Probably not. But seeing her indignant face makes you think you got the upper hand.

     “I dunno Hana, I’m the one with the pure intentions. You’re the one with the dehydration and conflating having beans and rice with someone.”

    “I’m denouncing my friendship with you on my next stream, which is in-- _ fuck!  _ I’m late! Bye I’ll message you later hope you get a good dick--” You hang up. Shut your laptop, practice more than needed and are, of course, interrupted by Jamison. He shows up with a new contraption, and really, how the hell did he do it with so little. You ask him that, and you know the awe is coming out a bit because really, you’ll always admire people who build everything from nothing. It’s what you aspire to be.

    “Middle o’ nowhere Australia is a rough place, gotta learn to be resourceful. Besides, don’t need some fancy suit tech to get yourself some damn good effects.” He grins at the last part, and you don’t think he has much knowledge of Vishkar and how absolutely  _ fucked  _ they are, but it is nice to know you share similar sentiment. 

   You smile back, “Damn right you don’t.” Something about the expression he makes afterwards makes you almost feel blinded, but you find you don’t mind much at all.

   “So,” you say, “does your...Roadhog need something too? I mean, you do work together, right?” Jamison shakes his head, and does one of those choking cackle things you’ve gotten used to within the time you’ve known him.

   “No way mate, Hog’s my guard. Besides, if you’re talkin’ bout food, I have no idea if he’s vegetarian or vegan or something else. One time I ate ribs in front of him and I thought he was gonna choke me to death. Not the way I wanna go out, pretty sure the only reason he didn’t was cause we split the profits.” His mouth is full, yet somehow he manages to sound coherent to you. You know he’s being serious, but you did forget that he and Roadhog happen to do all sorts of illegal work. 

    Jamison comes back, showing things or piecing together your broken equipment, or just for food long after the leftovers have gone. You ignore the nosy folks who waggle their brows and nudge you when you buy more than usual. He always talks, whether it’s little comments while working or outright rambling. He’s not offended when you’re too focused to listen or reply, and he stays as long as he thinks you’ll let him. The only time you say anything about the time is when you and Hana are going to have a call. One time, when you’re pacing with anxiety and Hana calls, he yells  something you’re too absorbed to comprehend to her, and she laughs so hard it takes her five minutes to cool down.

   “Not bad for a pyromaniac,” she says when you ask what he said. She doesn’t joke about it too much that day, it’s more of a comfort when she gives off a calm you rarely get to see. She says she’s going on a trip soon for some streams, and she’s excited because she’s never been able to travel much. She had to work extra hard to make up for it, and you wonder where she’s going to go.

  A day later,  you wake up to Hana Song in your apartment eating sugary cereal while watching novelas in English subtitles. Your reactions range from  _ holy shit,  _ to,  _ did you just break in.  _ She only replies that she’s got connections, as if you didn’t already know that. 

  “I have some dumb hotel I have to stay at, and I won’t interrupt your gay bonding sessions, but I  _ have  _ to know what Gabriel tells his grandmother when she sees him in bed with his boyfriend Ja--” she’s tying her shoelaces and grabbing her bag to leave. You saw the car that was waiting for her pull up a minute earlier.

  “I still can’t believe you decided to watch that.”

  “And I can’t believe you  _ haven’t _ . I’ll explain what I watched later, gotta go!” she’s out the door as soon as you wave. You know everything is set up as best you can but it doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. Not as much for yourself but for the people who will see you, who took the risk against Vishkar for  _ you _ . You haven’t considered yourself a stickler for perfection, but you can’t help it this time. This has to succeed, not just for you, but for your people. 

  Which leads to you, the afternoon before your 10 PM concert, ready to lose it. You’re pacing again, humming and tapping beats from memory. Hana is supposed to come in a few minutes to “glamorize” you, and you know Jamison and Roadhog are setting stuff up with your volunteers. You hope they get along, because that’s one other thing you don’t want to worry about. 

  Two knocks on your door, and you nearly sprint to open the door and maybe pretend to have more composure than you actually have. The person at the door is too tall to be Hana Song, and you look up to see Jamison Fawkes instead.

  “G’da--” he chokes, and you look around, then down. You have no shirt. And no binder. Most people are aware you’re trans, but this feels different and you’re flustered and embarrassed and can’t manage to do anything about it. Jamison is...blushing? Is he embarrassed for you? Is he--

   “Holy  _ shit _ .” is the only thing he says, “you’re really smoking, and I’m usually the one on fire.” 

    “What,” you say.

     “What,” he says, “it’s rather uh, shiny! Time to blow it up, g’bye!”

   The door is still open, and you’re still standing there when Hana gets to the door. She smiles as if she knows everything, which she probably does, before stepping into your place with a skip in her step. She shuts the door behind her, and laughs.

   “Guess who I just saw all hot and bothered, didn’t even recognize me.” she’s still smiling,  _ grinning _ , and really, you should be more offended. But it’s more of a  _ he was what?  _ Rather than getting irritated at his best friend. 

   “Um, can we pretend that whole thing didn’t happen?” you ask, trying to do your best puppy eyes down at her. 

     “Never. But I’m gonna make you look  _ great,  _ so don’t you worry.” She pulls out makeup and clothes, and you know you’re sitting and shutting up to let her do her thing. Afterwards, the only thing you can say is  _ wow  _ because you both know how awesome you look and how amazing your best friend is. 

    ”Guess I gotta get ready to turn up the volume?” you ask, because there isn’t anything else left to do.

    “And I’ll be the first to buy your album, you got this Lúcio Correia dos Santos.” Hana kisses you on the cheek before running off to her car. If you two weren’t strictly platonic, you’d probably have asked her to marry you, because it’s pure luck you’ve gotten a best friend like her.

   A few hours later, you’re asking your audience if they’re ready, and can’t help but feel the love in their cheers. You’ll figure out the rest in time, for now, you got people to show your sound to and a world of energy to give. It’s only in the impromptu after party that you remember that things happened. You don’t expect the fireworks, Jamison never told you they were in the plan, though from most of how he talks you realized he wasn’t much of a planner. You know you’re gonna either succeed or get hell for it or both, but for now you’ll enjoy what you’ve got.

   Here’s how it breaks down: you see your best friend and the man who just saw you topless in the crowd, and the story is just getting started.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back yall, with fresh ideas an praying for someone to commission me. hope you liked it!!!


End file.
